


I've Always Got Your Back, Klaus.

by poisns



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Fluff, Gen, Good Brother Diego Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, One Shot, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Recreational Drug Use, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, i dislike reginald awfully, young hargreeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 10:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisns/pseuds/poisns
Summary: Individual training? More like torture.Thirteen-year-old Klaus is released from the mausoleum and has a hard time coping with the aftermath of it.At least Diego is there to lend his shoulder for his brother to lean on.





	I've Always Got Your Back, Klaus.

**Author's Note:**

> hey children. this is the one shot that links into the other one i posted. they aren't necessarily part of a series though so i'm keeping it seperate. the kids are 13 in this.
> 
> drug use, cos once again, its klaus.
> 
> basically, diego is an amazing brother, and reginald is a complete tosser.
> 
> i went over this one, again and again, i might come back to it and chop and change another time. for now, enjoy. oh, and please leave a comment. i wanna know if this is actually good so i don't end up continuing writing stuff if it's actually shit.

Individual training? More like fucking _torture_. There wasn’t a single thing about being locked inside a pitch dark, cold, damp and smelly mausoleum with only the blood-curdling screams of those deceased to fill the soundless space. Closing his eyes for hours was the only way Klaus could manage to stay put in there, not falling asleep once for the most blatant of reasons. Miss Janet who was hovering in the far right corner next to a stone casket with the lid slightly askew hadn’t ceased her groaning for the past three hours. It was terrifying, sure, but Klaus picked the situation apart and had declared her as severely constipated. Though that was never the issue - the extensive rotting hole in the centre of her chest gave it away after she had become clear enough in Klaus’ vision to see the details, had really given it away. He was sure if Janet’s festering chest wound had a smell, he would be dead too.

Now he was waiting. Waiting for his father to let him out after the infernal six hours he had already spent in there. He was waiting with the heels of his palms pressed hard into his eye sockets, _so hard_ that he saw stars and shapes moving across the black of his inner eyelids. He was freezing, having had only his white shirt on without his jumper when Reginald seized him by the sleeve to drag him to the car. His siblings had witnessed the ordeal after lunch; but as far as they knew, it was just individual training. Klaus could understand why he was the only one (besides Vanya) whose powers were inferior; seeing hundreds of dead people swarming and swirling through his vision was a waste. Klaus felt like a waste. Of course, Vanya always, _always,_ made her brother feel like he wasn’t totally worthless. The times he would come skulking back from his ‘training’, his slumped, shaking frame caught her eye each time he walked past her open bedroom. He had never told her what happened when he was gone--she was far too sensitive; she would end up in floods of tears, hurting for her brother. The other reason was that Reginald would wring his neck with his bare hands if he let anyone know the truth.

So he kept quiet.

Except for his version of quiet was clouded with the horrifying noises expelled from the dead.

Six hours and thirteen minutes. Klaus had found a scratched pink watch in Allison’s bedroom months ago, and liked to keep track of the time so he could see whether there was some sort of sick running theme in terms of the times he’d be locked away. The week before, on Tuesday (it was a miracle that he hadn’t been thrown in sooner in the week; he had tested his father’s patience for days on end), he was gone for 5 hours and 45 minutes, on the dot. He had thought to himself; the longer he failed to express any further knowledge of his powers, the longer he was locked inside the mausoleum. It was a fair judgement, and if he was correct in his thinking, his father should be coming… “Now… _please,_  now...”

The deadbolts on the exterior of the mausoleum clanked, forcing Klaus to press his body harder against the wall he was leaning against. Miss Janet wailed, scratching indolently at her chest, and Klaus drew a shaking breath. “Janet, _please,_ picking at it will only make it worse.”

The door swung open, and Sir Reginald Hargreeves stood, perfect posture and all, closely resembling the spirits within his vicinity.

_If only_ he _were dead._

“Number Four, your individual training session has come to an end.” Reginald took long strides into the mausoleum, ever so slightly letting his face scrunch up in pure disgust at the smell that lingered in the chilled air, “Get up. We shall return to the Academy immediately.”

_Oh, wonderful._

Klaus pressed his hands against the stone wall behind him and stood up on shaking legs, trying ever so hard to appear strong-willed, just for the sake of preventing his father from noticing his weakness and locking him away for a further six hours. Klaus wouldn't dare put up a fight if Reginald did; he was conditioned to know better. After all, this was meant to be helping him to be as strong as his siblings, wasn’t it?

_Yeah, right._

“Yes, father.” He obeyed, obviously, now on his feet, wiping his hands on the back of his shorts to rid of the slimy sheen they had obtained when touching the mossy cobblestone floor. Reginald’s expression hadn’t faltered, nor had it flickered with any other emotion other than _coldness._ If the wind were to change, nothing would be different. His dear father would still be walking around with a face like a slapped arse.

Reginald said no more. He merely gestured to the door curtly before returning his arm straight back to his side with haste. Klaus thought he was quite lucky, in that sense. Attempting to create any sort of conversation with his father would be far more challenging than anything else; neither one of his siblings possessed the intellect his father did, deeming them--once again--inferior. He wasn’t even entirely sure that he’d heard their Mom having a conversation with Reginald; she was nothing more than a service provided for the seven of them, programmed to deliver the most immaculate of favours to take care of _his_ children. Klaus supposed it was better that way. Reginald hadn’t the emotional capacities to love them unconditionally. They were nothing but useful to him. Nothing but his own personal weapons that gave him the popularity that he craved so desperately.

Klaus followed his father outside, not hesitating once, and breathed in the air as deep as his lungs would let him just to rid them of the smell of rotting and mould. Reginald didn’t turn back once as he strode across the dewy grass. Klaus wrinkled his nose and made an obscene gesture at his side, clearly aimed towards the man in front of him, thankfully going unnoticed, but he was certain that the kick he’d get out of being caught flipping his the old bastard off would be as exhilarating as any high he had experienced before.

\--

The Academy was quiet when they returned. The only sound to be heard was Mom’s heels clicking against the tile floors and the beautiful melody of Vanya’s violin. The moment they stepped inside, Reginald veered off to the staircase to lock himself up in his office until dinner time, _thank the lord-_ Klaus didn’t think he could handle being in the presence of the old man for one moment longer than the ten minutes they had been in the car for. Klaus, however, hadn’t moved an inch. His feet felt like they had been sinking into the ground, that he was slowly being swallowed up by the floor beneath him. The shock of being imprisoned like a criminal had started to become noticeable in his chest; it was tight, his head throbbed from the phantom screams that he had become so familiar with, and his hands were quivering at his sides.

The psychological effects were always ten times as worse as the physical effects. Physically, Klaus felt over-exerted. He felt like his skull was splitting in two, that it was being drilled into by thousands of tiny needles. His back always felt put out from how much he would hunch over trying to shield himself from whoever was surrounding him. His skin which wasn’t covered by clothing would be scuffed up and bleeding from hauling his shaking body across the rugged ground to the nearest corner where he would feel at least some sense of security. Psychologically? It fucked him up. It fucked him up to the point where he would sneak out of the Academy at two in the morning to pick up bags of weed that he later hid inside of his stuffed animals. If he wasn’t high, he couldn’t fall asleep. The number of spirits increased at night time, and they would circle around his entire bedroom as if they were trying to intimidate him. He never felt intimidated; only completely fucking _terrified_ for his life.

On more than one occasion when Klaus couldn’t get his hands on weed or pills, he had no choice but to settle for a high-less slumber. It never lasted long; waking up in a total state of shock, sweat drenching his pyjamas. Once, he had screamed so hard he bolted upright with such force that he tumbled off of his bed and onto the floor with a reasonably loud thud, sending various items on his bedside table crashing to the floor along with him. The noise had been so startling that Diego had burst through the door thirty seconds later with two knives in his hands and Allison in tow, but when he saw his brother trembling in the fetal position, he dropped his knives to the ground and hastened towards him, Allison gently taking his hands in hers and rubbing her thumbs over the back of them. He didn’t go back to sleep straight away that night; instead, Diego made him promise to go straight to his own room if he needed anything, where Allison had stayed with him and sat at the end of his bed for an hour or two, not saying a word. She had fallen asleep eventually, and Klaus had remembered wrapping a blanket around both of them, squashing his back against his sister’s to feel some sort of security and familiarity as he tried (and failed) to tune out the wails and moans and groans and gurgles coming from every direction. Boy, was he _glad_ that she couldn’t hear any of it. He’d never wish it upon anyone else other than himself to be graced with the horrifying power he had.

_Anywho._

Klaus was certain that after dinner, Reginald would be leaving to London for a business trip, of which had been talked about highly, as well as in advance. The reveal of his father’s bleak schedule allowed him to plan everything down to a T, including the times he were to sneak out of the academy to meet ‘outsiders’, as Reginald so often referred to as any other child that wasn’t named One to Seven. Those outsider friends may have funded, as well as encouraged, his drug habit, but he didn’t plan to quit it anytime soon. Whatever was in the shit he was taking was working at keeping the ghastly faces from obstructing his vision from day to night.

After standing unmoving at the door for a little over ten minutes, Klaus drew in a breath, let it out, and went straight to the kitchen where he found his Mother leant over a steaming pot of _something_. “Hey, Mom.” He said, pacing around the table, dragging his finger across the dark stained wood as he moved. Grace turned around, a sweet smile placed delicately onto her red lips, and said, “Hello, Klaus, sweetheart. Are you alright?”

Usually, when one was to ask the question _‘are you okay?’,_ to Klaus, he would find the bravest face he could, shamefully wear it, and lie. He didn’t have trouble with doing so; he was so accustomed to lying after he would be asked time and time again where he was when he left the house at any given time. However, on that single occasion, where his mother was looking at him so softly with the most affection in her eyes he had ever seen, he caved. His tears were hot, and they stung when coming into contact with the scratch on his jaw.

Grace had entered _swaddle mode_ , as the children would call it, as she removed the pot from the stove and reached out to Klaus. She wrapped her arm around his back and pressed his head to her chest with the other. “Whatever is the matter, my dear?” He felt her fingernails scratching against his scalp, so he closed his eyes.

Klaus supposed that there wasn’t much he could say to his Mom; she was designed to protect the children, but not to intervene in any type of way with Reginald's studies. _Ha, studies._ So, all he could do at that moment was let himself cry without the satisfaction of telling her what was causing him so much anguish.

Looking up at her, and meeting her eyes with a sad smile, he said, “Nothing, Mom, I just don’t feel too good, that’s all. I promise.”

 

\--

 

Dinner was rather calm. Klaus thought it was best to not do or say a single thing to anyone, not even Ben, whose eyes he kept feeling staring pointedly at his right side, clearly trying to grasp any sort of attention that Klaus could give. He desperately wanted to meet his brother’s glare and _playfully_ mouth the words ‘fuck off’ to him, but he refrained. Besides the sounds of eight people chewing and the tapping of Five’s foot on the tiled floor, Klaus could begin to hear voices gasping dryly and whispering all around him. It was hard not to look up from his plate of food and scout out a shadow or an outline of a figure. Curiosity did overcome him, but the urge to go unnoticed did too.

He had immediately gone back to his bedroom, not answering to Allison when she called his name from behind him as he left. Maybe she didn’t keep pestering him because she knew when he needed space from past experiences. They were siblings, after all. A few minutes after, Five had attempted to talk to him after seeing how he shut Allison out. Five wasn’t one to become attached to a matter if he couldn’t get very far with it, but Klaus was ultimately spared from seeing the way Five’s eyebrows furrowed with a solemn expression as he glared at Klaus’ door.

_‘You can tell me what happened, Klaus. I’d never tell. Trust me…’_

 

_‘...’_

 

_‘...’_

 

_‘Fine. you know where I am if you change your mind.’_

“Now,” he grumbled under his breath, “where the _fuck_ did I put my most recent purchase…” Klaus pinched the bridge of his nose, hand on his hip, and racked his brains through and through for a hint of a memory as to where he put the small bag of weed. “Oh!” He threw his arms up, spotting the outline of a baggie against his bedside lampshade, smirking to himself at the creative placement. “Whoever said I wasn’t smart was a fuckin’ dumbass. Look at me go, dumbasses,” He ripped the tape off of the top where it was stuck down, and lifted his mattress to retrieve his tin.

Somewhere inside of him, Klaus knew what he had been doing to himself was wrong. He knew that by taking the pills and smoking every night was permanently damaging his body. But then again, what was the use of living so unhappily, so on edge? Of being so weary of each corner he walked around, fearing that whatever would be behind it would be so horrifying he wouldn’t be able to get the image out of his head for days, for weeks, for months.

So, in went the drugs, out went the fear. It was a familiar system that he just couldn’t seem to break.

The roll wasn’t too shabby; he couldn’t quite seem to keep his hands from shaking the entire time. “She shall do, oh _yes,_ she will,” he murmured, heading straight for his open window. He struggled with the lighter for a few seconds, joint hanging loosely from his dry lips. The flame appeared and he lit the end, breathing in deeply, filling his lungs to their full capacity with the smoke.

“Me oh my, that’s good stuff.” The smoke drifted out into the cold air outside, creating small trails that diffused out into nothing the further it went. With each drag, Klaus had the intention to cloud his brain entirely just so he could have a decent night’s sleep. He could feel the bubble in the back of his throat start to form, and his eyes felt like they were slowly being pulled shut by tiny pieces of thread tied to his eyelids. Smoking out of his bedroom window gave him that same rush of excitement that swearing at his father when his back was turned did, but the feeling he had afterwards was always amplified by the high that infiltrated his brain.

Minutes had passed, and he was feeling it. Oh, _heck,_ was he feeling it. The bubble had grown ten times the size, and he could no longer raise his eyebrows due to how heavy his eyelids were. Klaus sucked the filter as his life depended on it to drain the joint of any remains and tossed it out of the window and onto the fire escape stairs. “Ooh, Lordy.” Klaus grasped at the window as hard as he could to close it and ended up trapping his tie between the window frame and the window as it slammed shut. Hopefully, just _hopefully_ Pogo or Mom weren’t upstairs; the last thing Klaus wanted was for one of them to come barging into his room to ask what all the commotion was about. And if it were to happen, he would… _well,_ he didn’t know what he’d do.

“‘Spose I’d have to… to piece together an elaborate plan to fool them both,” He thought aloud, scratching the top of his head and tugging at his tie to make it loose enough to pull over his head. “Get this fuckin’ thing off of me…” he grumbled as he unbuttoned the first two buttons on his shirt, deeming the task far too finicky since his fingers felt like they had cotton glued to the tips. Klaus sighed and flopped stomach first onto his bed, tossing the shirt off to the side for his sober self to clear up later. _Thank you, high Klaus. I appreciate it, high Klaus._

“Heh. No problem,” he giggled, finding the conversation he was having with himself totally humorous, however never to be remembered at a different time. He replayed the phantom dialogue over three times before he actually forgot what he had said, but didn’t dwell on it for much longer. He wanted to speak to someone other than himself.

Luther was immediately out of the equation. There was no word of doubt that he was a massive snitch and he’d have no problem with running straight to Mom or Pogo if he noticed Klaus was high. Vanya went to bed significantly sooner than the others, despite the strict 8:30 pm bedtime; she woke early every morning to practise the violin for hours on end, being alert and attentive so she could do her absolute best. As lovely as she was to talk to, Klaus didn’t think he could coax her out of bedtime in exchange for a non-sober conversation. Better that, he felt awful when forcing his presence onto her when he wasn’t sober. She was far too innocent and far too caring, she’d worry her socks off even before she’d put the damn things on. Five? He simply didn’t seem to care for Klaus when he was drunk or high. Granted, he did have a reserved case of affection for Klaus that he didn’t express like Allison or Ben at any other given time, but when it came to the drugs, Five didn’t know how to address it. He tended to just stay quiet, and let Klaus get on with whatever illegal activity he was partaking in at the time, to remain completely uninvolved with it all.

Klaus knew for a fact that Allison was now locked away in her bedroom, judging by the way she had yelled out, _‘Get out, Five! I’m trying to learn lines for a commercial!’_ just twenty minutes prior. She became a real _moose_ when she was immersed in her acting; he who dare enter her space when she was in the middle of learning something would surely leave being rumoured out, just as everyone else in the house had before, sans Vanya. She knew boundaries.

Ben was most definitely reading. The sheer thought of disturbing him in his little reading nook in his bedroom made him feel remorse. As much as he loved Ben with all of his heart, he knew how close they were, meaning Ben didn’t ever hold back when putting Klaus in his place. No Ben, then.

That left Diego. Number Two. Klaus got along with Diego the most. It was Klaus’ brash personality contrasting perfectly against Diego’s quiet, stoic, yet affectionate personality that made them work together so well. Diego was Klaus’ biggest hype-man, who always encouraged him when he didn’t think he was doing so well, and he’d never failed to be there for him. Even when he was so drunk to the point where he couldn’t think about standing up straight, or so high that he forgot how to speak.

“Diego, baby, I’m coming for you,” Klaus whispered, completely over exaggerating how quiet he was being, from his voice all the way down to the movements he was doing. He thought he probably looked like some dumb cartoon, prancing around his room with his arms above his head. “Don’t laugh, buddy, don’t laugh.”

Walking one door down to Diego’s bedroom proved difficult. Klaus’ feet felt like heavy marshmallows, and he definitely had forgotten for a minute or so where his brother’s room even was. The silent debate he held with himself became heated, so he - out loud - diffused the situation by shushing himself, then turning around frantically just in case anyone else had heard him. No one had, thank God. Not even Luther, who probably had a built-in bullshit detector inside his head that gave him an advance over everyone else.

_And that’s why Dad favoured him the most._

Klaus stood in front of the door, the letter ‘D’ looking awfully like a face from the markings that were carved into the wood. He inhaled, holding his breath, the intention to knock burning in his raised fist, but something was telling him not to. The rational voice that sometimes talked to him from the very back of his head. It was so far at the back that he couldn’t hear it on occasion, which could be deemed for the reason as to why he did the most heinous things from time to time. Running through the hallway wearing nothing but lime green socks when he was seven could have been one of the _most_ ludicrous things he’d done if one hadn’t truly known Klaus. Needless to say, he did end up with Mom hot on his tail waving a pair of pants in the air, calmly saying _‘Klaus, sweetie, will you put these on?’._ The chorus of screams from Vanya and Allison egged him on until Luther had grabbed him by the ear and slammed him into the wall, Five standing by rolling his eyes.

What was he doing again?

Right… talking to Diego.

He said _‘fuck it’_ internally, ripped off the band-aid and knocked on the door frantically.

“Y-yeah?” Diego called out. At that point, Klaus didn’t know if he was breathing or not, but he gave it no more thought and twisted the doorknob to let himself into his brother’s bedroom.

‘Let himself in’ was an over-estimation of Klaus’ current capabilities; he hadn’t moved his feet an inch, and his left hand was still raised as if he was knocking on a door that was no longer there. Diego was rather spooked from his place at the foot of his bed. His eyes were wide, mouth agape, and the knife in his hand wasn’t far from landing atop the bed sheets.

“Klaus? What is it?” Diego stood up and walked towards Klaus, stopping a metre away, most probably a cautionary habit he had picked up over the years. “Are you o-okay?”

He sure did get his answer, because as soon as Diego finished his question, Klaus’ eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he landed face first on the ground, his arms splayed in different directions, all whilst breathing as he’d just run ten miles in ten minutes.

“Wh-what?! Klaus!” Diego darted forwards, evidently feeling quite guilty for not realising that his brother was on the brink of collapsing just seconds before it happened. “Klaus, buddy, hey,” he grabbed Klaus by the shoulders and flipped him over so his face didn’t end up imprinting onto his floor. And, much to Diego’s distaste, his brother’s nose had started to bleed, the trail of red leaking out through his nostrils and down the side of his cheeks. “Oh-oh, my _God,”_ Diego shuddered.

Klaus, wearing only his pyjama bottoms, began to come around, slowly, but still. He grunted, hands being the first things to flail around to judge his surroundings. Next were his dazed red eyes, which now was probably a _lot_ more noticeable due to the vicinity in which his brother was to him.

“Goodness me,” Klaus started, “I think I just totalled on your bedroom floor because I’m _so damn high_ that I forgot to breathe! Silly me.” Klaus shook his head, his curls bouncing wildly. Diego’s expression turned stoic like it always did when it was revealed to him that his brother was high off his ass, and he rolled his eyes. He seemed in between; Diego wanted to be furious that his brother was doing _drugs_ out of all things, but at the same time, Klaus was hurting. It was so clear, but it couldn’t ever be squeezed out him, no matter how hard and furiously they pried.

“Why-why’d you smoke, Klaus? You know I hate it when you do,” Diego murmured, afraid that one of the more authoritative figures in the house would hear them; Luther being a frequent tattle-tale, he couldn’t be trusted with a single piece of information that didn’t fit into the rest of the mundane facts that could be told about the children’s lives. Klaus didn’t move, voluntarily, anyway. He was twitching, his knee or shoulder bouncing here and there. Diego took Klaus’ silence with a pinch of salt. “Okay. you don’t have to tell me, but just know that I-I love you, alright? You can tr-trust me with anything, I’ve always got your back, Klaus.”

Klaus’ eyes filled with wonder as he glanced up at his upside-down brother.

“That… that is the _nicest_ thing, Number Two. Truly,” he felt a sarcastic comment about _not crying_ sit on the tip of his tongue but came to the decision that he shouldn't say it out loud since the tears were already dripping down the side of his face and landing in his ears. _Christ!_ It was the second time Klaus had let his guard down in two hours. For him, it indicated weakness, but what kind of super-kid with a father who conditioned them not to feel any emotion that indicated their humanity wouldn’t think that? That crying made them inferior and worthless. Klaus was already on that train, and he didn’t think he could care any less about what his father thought of him.

Diego fumbled, not entirely sure what to do with his hands, but sighed in defeat when Klaus tightly wrapped his skinny arms around Diego’s neck, squeezing ever so slightly. Diego said nothing, he just let Klaus have his moment of weakness resulting in comfort. “Christ, Klaus…” He wondered aloud, putting his hand on the back of Klaus’ neck, the other one supporting his shoulders so he didn’t end up pulling Diego to the ground.

“I love you too, Diego. Very much.”

 

\--

 

The next day, November the 12th, Five went missing.

It wasn't a complete shock, his impulsivity to run out of the door and not come back. _Christ,_ he was one hell of a lot braver than Klaus ever was. He would give anything to just walk out that door with no repercussions. He felt tremendous guilt, however, upon remembering the way Five had tried to coax him out to talk.

_No, no… that wouldn’t have changed anything. He still would have left._

Hours passed after dinner, and he hadn’t come home. A pit of anxiety had started to develop in his stomach.

November 15th, and still no sign of his brother. The pit deepened.

Christmas came. It felt colder and darker, no matter how long the children huddled for warmth in front of the fireplace.

Months passed into the New Year of 2003, but alas, no sign of Five. He often woke up to the harsh glow of the hallway light from underneath his door as well as the sound of footsteps. It wasn’t ever Five, though. Christmas felt darker and colder.

2004 rolled around. Klaus hadn’t yet accepted his brother’s disappearance. He would hang out the window with a joint in hand, staring into the dark streets to see if he could spot Five. He never did.

His father continued to throw him into the mausoleum.

He got high on whatever he could find each day.

2006, December 6th. Ben died, age seventeen. Klaus locked himself in his room for the rest of that day, eyes swollen from crying, ribs aching from sobbing harshly.

Diego left three days after. He apologised to Klaus on his way out and made him promise not to tell anyone where he was going.

February 2007. Klaus had lost track of the date. He snuck into the courtyard at three in the morning and touched the tips of his fingers to Ben’s name engraved on his statue. He didn’t cry. He then stood in the living room and stared at the portrait where all of them were present.

Together.

Klaus then left the academy, never to return.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this was nice and funny and sweet to read. leave comments if you wish, i read them all.
> 
> i tried to make the end part as accurate as i could; being totally in the dark about ben's death doesn't help, but i tried. the reason as to why i did add that end bit was because i'm more likely to continue writing stuff about the much younger hargreeves, or much older.
> 
> see you all in the next fic, whenever that may be.


End file.
